


The Rules Of Dating Niall Horan

by Narryisstillgoingstrong



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Arguing, Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Moving In Together, Romance, Smut, Yelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:36:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narryisstillgoingstrong/pseuds/Narryisstillgoingstrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes they laugh and sometimes they cry. Regardless what of life throws at them, or what it takes away, Niall and Harry will fight their way through the troubles of love—together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rules Of Dating Niall Horan

**Author's Note:**

> So in this story Niall has a younger brother instead of an older brother.
> 
> Please enjoy this story :)

 

There are few things in life Harry is completely confident about and relationships? Not one of them. Knowing he wants to have a steady relationship with someone is very different from actually having one and in all honesty, Harry doesn’t feel any need to throw himself out there only to be rejected. He’s perfectly content being single, relishes quiet nights in, and personal time to enjoy solitude found only when he’s alone.

He’s not one for the drama or the mess of binding himself to someone. It would be nice, of course, to find someone he’s ‘compatible on an emotionally and physically stimulating level,’ as he likes to say, but he’s not going to kill himself on his birthday either because another year has passed by and he's still single.

So no, relationships aren’t his thing and probably never will be. And he’s perfectly fine with that.

 

 

Louis is the one who sets them up, surprisingly enough. Harry always feels, and looks, awkward in public, not out of any sense of real insecurity but nervousness that people won’t measure up to his expectations. He hates the idea of unreciprocated kindness because life, too short as a drop of rain in the pond, leaves so little room for prolonged fastidiousness. So why, Harry wonders, waste it being an ass?

Harry isn’t unhappy being alone, tries to tell Louis that as the boy recites over the phone the name of the place and time of the meeting between his ‘very talented close friend,’ and Harry. It doesn’t really work, since Louis’s selective hearing is apparently acting up again.

“And by the way, don’t order anything too oily, you always get sick afterward, and if Ni calls me up tonight to tell me you spent the evening in the bathroom, I will skewer you,” Louis advises, and of course his ‘advice’ will go completely unheeded, because Harry loves his fajitas too much to care. He’ll hold himself together; he has faith in himself.

“So uhm, tell me about—‘Ni,’” he asks, redoing his tie for the umpteenth time. He fiddles with the loose ends before finally calling it quits and dropping it on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t call him that, first, because that’s my name for him. And second, you’re meeting him in twenty minutes; suspend all judgment; don’t ask stupid or intrusive questions. Manners Harry, remember. Now, what three things should you not talk to him about?”

Harry wracks his brain. He knows Louis told him this way-back-when, but now he’s drawing a blank. “Uhm,” he hedges, “religion, politics, and sex?”

He can almost hear Louis smacking his forehead. “Idiot, Niall’s not religious, cares about politics as much as you and me, and sex? Really Haz, has it been that long?” Harry wisely refrains from saying, ‘Yes, never is a pretty long time.’ Somehow he doesn’t think he’ll like Louis’s reaction to that confession.

“Don’t answer that. Just think, what did I say not to mention in front of him?”

“His…eh…” Harry fiddles futilely with the laces of his shoes before wondering if it’d be better just to go with his boots. They’re more comfortable after all…

An exasperated sigh brings him back to the conversation. “Height—don’t say anything about it, okay? His hair, seriously, you think I’m bad but Niall’s crazy. And finally, any inquiry of his brother will result in a black eye and more injuries than you need Harry, so refrain from asking about him. Actually, don’t mention family at all, that’s a touchy subject in general for him.”

A mental list is already writing itself out, but Harry considers writing the stuff on his hand just in case. The last thing he needs is to piss someone off, especially when said someone is Louis's friend.

One last check in the mirror. He looks a bit stiff, but not too bad overall. He tries a smile, showing his teeth, and then quickly closes his mouth. Well, that’s just one more thing to remember; cover mouth whilst laughing.

“—listening to me?”

“Yeah, I’m listening.” He breaks away from the hall mirror and tugs his blazer once more before grabbing his keys. “Alright, I’m going. Wish me luck?”

“So long as you remember everything I told you, you shouldn’t need it. Have fun Haz!” Louis ends the call before Harry can thank him properly, but he doesn’t really mind. He switches the phone to vibrate before slipping it into his trouser pocket. A final look around to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, and finally, he flicks the lights off before leaving his apartment.

 

 

The first thing Harry notices about Niall is the first thing Louis told him not to mention.

“Wow, you’re uh…not what I expected,” he blurts out, with all the skill of a master dater.

The second the words leave his lips, he almost turns tail right then and runs, because Niall, he can see, has muscles, big muscles, and not, I-worked-out-a-few-months muscles, but I-work-out-every-other-morning muscles and I-know-how-to-fuck-you-up muscles. Harry’s life begins to flash before his eyes.

Niall, unsurprisingly, gapes at him for a moment before he rolls his eyes and good naturedly laughs. “That’s what most people end up saying,” he muses. Harry still thinks there’s a fair chance of bodily harm so offers an obsequious smile in return before ducking his head in embarrassment.

“Well, I’m Niall, you probably figured. And I’m assuming your Lou’s friend Harry?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, that’s me. Whatever Louis said about me, it’s not true.” He shakes his head, feeling really stupid by this time.

“Well, I like to keep an open mind,” Niall says, before grabbing Harry’s hand and dragging him inside the restaurant.

 

 

Keeping an open mind—that’s a good idea. Harry is pleasantly surprised to learn that he and Niall have a lot in common. Once he gets over his initial awkwardness, it isn’t difficult to keep the conversation smooth. Niall answers his questions and asks Harry his own every so often and through good food and sweet drinks, they slowly begin to learn more about each other.

Harry has to remember to thank Louis for setting him up with someone not-so-crazy. Then he silently swears to take Louis shopping for a day—and not complain once—when Niall and he exchange numbers at the end of their date, with the promise to call each other soon.

Soon turns out to be when Harry gets back to his apartment. The number already in his phone, he digs the device out of his pocket and searches through his contacts for a second, not even thinking as he pushes the green button.

“I know we just left each other,” he blurts, not giving Niall any time to respond, “but I would really, really like for us to get together again. Uhm, soon. If that’s okay?” he trails off, feeling ridiculous. Did he really just schedule a second date so soon after his first?

“Where and when were you thinking?” Niall asks. Harry can hear street sounds in the background and realizes Niall must still be driving.

“You pick.”

“Alright, next week then. We’ll catch a movie, that okay?”

There’s a crazy, face-splitting grin spreading as Harry hastily answers in the affirmative. He can just imagine the smile on Niall’s face as they say their goodbyes.

 

Next week’s date turns out to be a success too, even if Harry does accidentally ruin Niall’s hair by running his hand through the blonde tresses. He can’t help it that Niall has crazily fascinating hair, all soft strands and blonde color and really, who could resist copping a feel?

“Don’t—touch—the hair,” he says when Harry jerks his hand back, looking appropriately reprimanded. After that Niall almost immediately reverts back to his relaxed state, demeanor bright and excited as he waits in line at the concession counter to buy their food.

They end up sitting in the very back of the cinema, the last row set a little higher than the others. It’s probably for the best anyway, since Harry would find it really very awkward if Niall couldn’t see the screen properly over the heads of the people in front of them.

The movie itself is a bit boring. He’s always preferred romantic and action films to drama or horror but Niall favorite’s comedies. Harry gets the distinct impression that Niall likes to laugh and is very laid back, especially when he always turns out to be the one laughing loudest at the jokes. Harry figures his date’s very unrestrained, kind of-animalistic, laughter evens out his own clumsiness.

 

 

By the time September rolls around, they’ve been going steady for four months, or rather; they’ve been seeing each other without labels for that long.

Harry, at 21, is working to get his teaching degree. Which is strange, considering him and kids? They don’t get along so well. Niall is the complete opposite. He’s like the crazy uncle of the family, always putting his face in kids’ businesses and generally making a fool of himself to keep them in high spirits, whereas Harry is the awkward brother still scared to pick the baby up. It’s no surprise that he’s going to teach secondary school.

Education for Niall is like television—nice to have and to watch, but ultimately unnecessary. He figures his talents will get him far enough and alright; Harry has to agree that Niall _is_ pretty talented. His life is a whirlwind of music and entertainment, which makes sense, considering his study in performing arts. Their final year at university begins in late summer, around the time they celebrate four months together.

They never actually say they’re dating, which for most people probably sounds strange. Harry likes to think it’s implied that yeah, after seeing the same person four months straight and taking him out on weekends and going for lunch together in the middle of the week and hanging out at friends’ places, it’s pretty obvious they’re dating. They’re comfortable around each other, have reached a level of amenity that doesn’t require verbal attention.

Nevertheless, Harry would like some clarification on what they are exactly.

They do all the things couples do, minus the whole, holding-hands-and-frolicking-down-the-street thing. They don’t make out in deserted corners of the mall either, but they do make out in Niall’s car and Harry’s apartment, which is good enough. Niall gives voice lessons in a rented studio and sometimes Harry meets up with him and they end up making out there too. So all in all, Harry’s getting a lot of kissing out of the deal.

There are, of course, more than a few things Harry still doesn’t know about his ‘boyfriend’ (and until Niall decides to tell him off otherwise, he’s going to continue calling him that). Things like where Niall sees himself in a few years, who else he’s dated in the past, what the deal with his brother is. The first is something Harry will remember to ask on their next date; the second, Harry is pretty sure he doesn’t want to know anyway, and the third, well, it’s clearly a very touchy subject, just as Louis had mentioned all those months ago, because anytime Harry tries to hedge the question, Niall clams up and changes the subject.

Niall is certainly an enigma, all laid back and relaxed but easily excited. He’s passionate, he’s caring, he’s considerate—Harry feels absolutely inadequate around him.

 

 

Mid-October they go out for lunch one Wednesday. Harry still hasn’t found the cure for his social awkwardness—though Louis swears he’s getting better. They’re laughing at a stupid stunt Harry tried to pull in the middle of class earlier that morning as they sip honey-tea and feed each other cupcakes. It’s ridiculously romantic (at least, as romantic as he and Niall can look while stuffing one another’s faces) but Harry doesn’t mind at all.

Halfway through his second cup of tea, Harry, without thinking, casually asks, “So how’s your family? I haven’t heard you talk about them in—well, ever really.”

Niall has that look on his face, as if Harry really did just ask him about his past girlfriends—and asked for the explicit details of their trysts too. Too busy flicking some meat pie onto his plate, Harry doesn’t notice Niall’s sudden stiff posture until he looks up and finds him glaring at the table, avoiding Harry’s eyes.

That’s when Harry remembers   _rule #3_ : Don’t ask about the family.

“Shit, I mean, it’s not a big deal—don’t answer if you don’t…you know…Or I’m just really—Sorry,” he finishes lamely, hiding his eyes behind his hand. As if he doesn’t feel stupid enough.

Niall takes it in stride, carefully putting down his fork and sitting back in his seat. His eyes are probing when Harry chances a look at him. He can tell the other boy is contemplating what exactly to say.

“Look, it’s not that I’m…uncomfortable talking about my folks,” he eventually says.

Harry nods emphatically, trying to show complete understanding. “Of course, I understand. Louis mentioned that your family is a sensitive topic.”

Niall looks away again, fiddling with his teacup. He sighs before speaking. “Did he mention anything about my brother?” Harry shakes his head no. “Jamie—my brother—isn’t someone I like to tell people about. It’s none of their business, okay?”

“Right, right! Don’t feel obligated to tell me, like I said, I understand—”

“Shut up, will you Harry?” But Niall is grinning in slight amusement as he says this, taking the sting away from his words. “It’s not that I don’t want you to know. Hell, after the past few months I’m surprised neither of us mentioned anything yet. It’s just that, I don’t want it change anything between us. Like, I don’t want you to pity me or him about it.”

Harry only stares at him for a moment, at a loss for what to say.

“Can you just—give me a little more time to get my thoughts together? I promise I’ll tell you about Jamie soon, I just…need some time first, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry agrees. There’s no reason to push things with Niall and admittedly, Harry feels satisfied just knowing the older boy trusts him enough to eventually share with him an aspect of his family he’s clearly uncomfortable talking about. “Take as much time as you need.”

 

 

He has to admit though, after that conversation, Harry is more curious than ever to find out about Niall’s brother. He decides to ask Louis for any little detail he can spare him with, but evidently Louis chooses that moment of all times to grow a conscience.

“I’m not spilling your boyfriend’s secrets to you.”

“Well, I mean it’s not exactly a secret if you know, right?” Harry tries, and fails miserably, at a look of innocent pleading. Why he thought Louis would fall for it now when he never has in the past is beyond him.

They’re sitting in the university library together, under the pretense of studying. Well, Harry will study; Louis will hide his latest issue of GQ England behind his literature textbook.

“So? There’s plenty of stuff I know about you that I don’t tell Niall, so why on earth would you expect me to tell you anything about him? Wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“Oh come on, I’m an open book! Anything he wants to know about me, he just has to ask!” Harry rubs his finger across the table, fidgeting in his seat. He and Louis have been sitting in the library for what feels like weeks, really just a few hours, and by this point he’s tired and hungry and really, really wants to go home and ask Niall to come over.

“Right, so just ask Niall if you’re so curious.”

His head collides with the table, exasperated. The librarian, conveniently walking by them at that moment, shushes him fiercely and he feels his ears go red in embarrassment. Louis, the ass, just laughs quietly behind his hand.

“I tried that,” he says after checking the librarian has left. “He said he needs time before he can tell me.”

“There you go then, just be patient and he’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

“Can’t you just tell me?” he groans. “I mean, is his brother sick? Estranged? A demon hunter wanted for a capital offense?”

“Why am I friends with you?” asks Louis, sounding only slightly nonplussed.

Harry grins, the smile hidden in his physics book amidst kinematic integrals. “Because of my dashing good looks and charming personality?”

“Maybe that’s why Niall suffers your presence. I, however, have higher standards.”

Harry falls silent for a second. “I think you just insulted us both,” he eventually says, scratching his head and yawning. Louis just rolls his eyes.

They don’t spend much longer in the middle of dusty, hardly-ever-opened pages of books, since the library closes in two hours. Louis gathers his stuff first, finally finished with his magazine and tired of staring at Harry’s focused staring at his book (“Stare at if all you want Haz, those numbers are just a bunch of useless equations anyway. Isn’t that why God created computers?”).

Harry leaves not long after him. When he glances at his wristwatch, the hour and minute hands mock him as they glue to 9pm. He breathes heavily as he gathers his things together beneath his arm and waves goodbye to several of his fellow studiers. The night is quiet and comforting, the silence not so bad after being in a library all day.

He feels a little stupid for walking to the library instead of driving his car, because now he’ll have to blow the last of his few bills on bus fare.

It’s as if some higher being has heard his cries of woe however, because his cell phone rings and the screen lights up with Niall’s name on the front after he fishes it out of his bag.

“Hello?”

“Haz? Where are you?”

Harry stops and leans against the metal fence surrounding the building. “Just walked out of the campus library, why?”

“Okay stay there, I’m picking you up.” He hangs up before Harry can say anything. Do people not say goodbye before hanging up anymore? He muses to himself, staring at his phone before pocketing it.

Niall must not have been far away at all, because not 10 minutes have passed by before he’s driving up next to Harry and stopping. Harry dumps his things carelessly in the backseat before settling up front.

“So what’s up?” he asks, pleased that he’s saved a phone call of asking his boyfriend over.

“Nothing.” It could just be his imagination, but Harry swears Niall’s hands tighten on the steering wheel as he drives forward back into the street.

“So…” he trails off, searching for something to say. Niall’s attitude throws him off, because normally they’d have leaned over the seat divider and swapped heated kisses before even thinking of going anywhere, but now Niall gives them no time for even a small peck, busying himself with staring at the road.

Niall sighs suddenly, finally relaxing in his seat as they get to a red light. “Are you busy tonight? Or tomorrow?”

“I don’t have classes Friday, remember? So I’m good, why?” Niall doesn’t answer right away. He drives straight for some time before suddenly taking a left at a light where he shouldn’t have turned. “Where are we going?”

Still, Niall remains silent and by this point Harry is beginning to worry a little. Not that Niall is going to whisk him into some deserted building and gut him or something, but just worried that something is wrong with his boyfriend.

Eventually, they come to a stop at the side of a building on a street Harry knows he’s never been on before. He doesn’t recognize any of the buildings actually, so he has to wonder what they’re doing there.

“Listen, I realize it’s kind of late. If you want to go home, just let me know.”

“Where are we?” Harry asks, not giving indication of whether he wants to stay.

“I thought—well, you asked about my family, about my brother the other day, remember?” Niall switches the car off and reaches up to turn the light on before shifting in his seat to face Harry. His eyes are intense, the usual humor completely gone from his face. “I thought you might want to meet my brother.”

Harry can’t help his eyes widening, not expecting that. He glances out the window before looking back at Niall, understanding clearing his features. “He lives at your parents?”

Niall nods. “He’s only 15, living with my mom and dad. That’s the apartment.”

“Are you—are you sure about this?”

Niall looks down at the gearshift, pulling at loose threads on the edge of his shirt. “I…No, not really. Lou hasn’t even met Jamie yet, just knows about him.”

“If you don’t—”

“Look,” Niall interrupts, voice steady. “I want you to meet him, okay? So don’t think you’re quilting me or whatever into this. I’m choosing to let you meet him under the impression that it won’t change anything between us. But Harry? You have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” he doesn’t hesitate to say.

“No matter what happens inside, you have to swear you won’t pity Jamie or my parents or me for it, got that? I’m not letting you meet him because I want your sympathy.”

“Ni.” Harry takes Niall’s trembling hands in his, holding them up to his lips and brushing a comforting kiss to his knuckles. “Don’t worry, alright? I swear on my life, you can trust me. I won’t think any less of you or whatever it is you’re worried about. You know I—” He stops, feeling himself hesitate. “You know I care about you. A lot,” he eventually settles on.

Niall looks relieved at his words, nodding his head. They both lean over the divider and press their mouths together for a chaste kiss before pulling away.

“Alright, come on. Might as well get this over with.”

Harry laughs with him as they unlock their doors and get out. “Don’t sound so excited!”

He crosses over in front of the car, hesitating again before grabbing Niall’s hand in his. The young musician doesn’t say anything but Harry feels him squeeze his fingers tightly before loosening his hold again, and understands what he’s trying to say.

They’re quiet going up the steps, the elevator broken. The stairs are narrow and kind of small, so it comes as no surprise when Harry accidentally trips over the top one. Only Niall’s quick reflexes stops him from eating dirty Berber carpet. He sends him a grateful look before straightening and following behind as Niall leads him down the hall.

They stop in front of room 312, a cute, heart-shaped picture taped below the peephole. It looks like something a little kid drew, all messy lines and crayon-colored outside them. Harry can’t really tell who it's depicting but has a strong suspicion it’s supposed to be Niall’s family.

“You ready?” Niall asks, breaking him from his thoughts.

“You sound like you’re preparing me for imminent death,” Harry says, trying to lighten the mood. Niall gives him a shaky smile, appreciating the attempt.

He drops Harry’s hand to find the right key on his key ring, knocking once on the door before turning the lock and letting them inside.

“Mom? Dad?” he calls out.

Harry walks behind him, the hall still narrow. The walls are adorned with happy pictures of smiling Niall and who Harry assumes to be his parents, but even more than family pictures are solo shots of one particular boy; sitting on a bike, playing football with Niall, unwrapping birthday and Christmas presents. All the pictures feature one young, innocent-looking boy and Harry assumes him to be Jamie, Niall’s younger brother.

“Niall? What’re you doing here so late?” A short woman with short blonde hair comes out from the kitchen, drying a wet plate in her hands. “And who’s this?” she asks, staring at Harry as though he’s some kind of lab experiment.

Niall grabs Harry’s forearm and pulls him forward. “This is Harry, who I’ve been telling you about. Where’s Dad and Jamie?”

“In your brother’s room, he’s about to go to bed. What’s going on, is something wrong?”

“No, nothing, everything’s fine. I just wanted you guys to meet my—friend,” his voice stutters over the word. Harry would be lying if he said it didn’t sting to hear the word ‘friend’ from Niall but keeps his mouth shut, knowing now is not the time to bring up that particular conversation.

“Alright, well, go say goodnight to your brother and then come back out, you can have some leftovers if you guys are hungry.”

“Thanks,” he says to her, pulling Harry along once more.

Jamie’s door has more pictures taped to it, hearts and stars and colored pictures of cartoon characters. It looks, once again, like a child’s artwork. Didn’t Niall say Jamie is 15? Harry wonders silently to himself.

Niall only knocks once on the door before pushing it open. Inside, Harry is met with the sight of a pastel-blue painted room, even more pictures and posters tacked to the wall. Stuffed animals line bookshelves, some children’s books as well. A desk in the corner has crayons and markers scattered all over, small toys littering various spaces of the floor. He and Niall pick their way through to the bed, where Niall’s dad is pulling a blanket over the boy lying in it.

“Niall?”

“Hey, Dad, this is Harry,” Niall introduces again. Niall’s dad gives him the same curious look he received from Niall’s mom, but doesn’t question him further. He turns back to the boy beside him.

“Jamie, look who’s here?” The boy sits up, nearly smacking his father in the face as he shoots his arms out and emits an excited squeal.

“Nialler! Nialler is here!”

Harry is taken aback by the excitement, the sheer exuberance radiating off of Jamie. He plasters a smile on his face, more than a little amused when Niall hides a cringe at the pet name and scoots closer to his young brother and envelopes him in a hug.

Jamie sits up straighter and holds tightly to Niall, not letting him go. Harry can see his form dwarfed in an oversized t-shirt, bony, skinny arms sticking out of the sleeves, when Niall eventually pulls away and beckons him close.

“Jamie, look, Nialler brought a friend,” Niall says, gesturing for Harry to move closer. Niall’s dad steps out of the way, letting Harry lean close to his two sons.

“Nialler friend,” Jamie says, eyes staring at something over Harry's shoulder.

Harry’s smile widens at the kid. His hair, natural brown color unlike Niall’s, is shaped in a bowl cut, and strands looking silky-soft. His blue eyes are alight with glee at meeting Harry and for reasons Harry can’t explain, he feels his chest suddenly clench at the sight. Without thinking, he reaches out and wraps his hand around Jamie’s shoulder, leaning close.

“Hey Jamie, my name is Harry.”

Jamie isn’t looking at him, face still split by his grin as his eyes roam unseeingly around the room. “Harry, Harry,” he repeats. “Nialler and Harry. I’m Jamie, Jamie, Minnie, call me Minnie.”

Harry laughs genuinely. For a second he can’t help but wonder why Niall had been so worried about him meeting his younger brother. Looking at him, Harry can see the differences between them; can see that he clearly has some condition. But what he doesn’t see is why he’s supposed to pity the family for it.

“You want me to call you Minnie?”

“Call me Minnie,” Jamie repeats, prompting Harry to chuckle again. He shifts closer to the bed before deciding to throw caution to the wind and ends up sitting in front of Niall entirely, as close as he can be to Jamie now. From behind him, Niall wraps one arm around his waist and drops his chin onto his shoulder.

“Okay, Minnie then. What will you call me?”

“Harry, call me Minnie!”

Niall laughs, breath coming warm against Harry’s cheek as he reaches around him and laces the fingers of his free hand with Jamie’s. “What will you call Harry, Minnie?”

“Hazza!”

Jamie breaks off into a giggle before pulling back completely, turning away from them but still laughing lightly. He settles his head onto his pillow with his back to them and Harry realizes they’ve been effectively dismissed. Somehow, he finds he doesn’t mind so much, not when he sees Jamie as too sweet to be rude to him in any way.

“Good night, Minnie,” he says and once again going on instinct, leans over and kisses the back of Jamie’s shoulder. He feels Niall’s hold on his hip tighten just before Niall presses his own kiss to Jamie’s cheek.

They stand together and step back, letting Niall’s dad finish saying goodnight to his son. Niall switches the light off in the room and the three of them leave Jamie to sleep, walking back out into the hallway.

Niall’s dad walks around them to the kitchen, where his wife is, but Niall stops Harry from following with a firm hold on his shoulder to pull him back.

They stand in silence for a moment before Niall, unable to stay silent anymore, speaks. “So…?”

“So?”

“Anything you want to say?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Again, he has to wonder what reaction Niall was expecting from him that had him so worried because frankly, he sees nothing wrong with Jamie and says as much to his boyfriend. Niall looks at him in surprise for a second, before his lips suddenly wobble and Harry is reminded that, as tough as Niall likes to come off as, he’s got one of the softest hearts of anyone Harry’s ever met.

“Hey, don’t cry alright?”

“I’m not crying,” Niall says, sniffing at the end.

Harry smiles accommodatingly, wrapping his arms around Niall’s shoulders and pulling him close. “Okay, whatever you say. It’s okay though. To cry that is.”

“I’m not going t—”

Well, Niall cries a little, but Harry promises not to tell anyone.

 

 

Harry gets closer and closer to Jamie in the following months. November rolls around and he Niall are still going strong as ever, their six-months mark passing them buy in a flurry of grins and chocolate cake.

Now that Harry knows where Niall’s parents and his brother live, he takes it upon himself to drop by for visits, sometimes with Niall, but oftentimes without. Niall's mother takes a particular liking to him, especially when he reveals his fondness for fajitas and cupcakes, two of her specialties. His dad, an engineer, opens up to Harry after learning that Harry is studying to become a teacher and is still taking all the usual academic classes, unlike Niall who’s dropped everything that isn’t relevant to his major.

It’s Jamie, however, that he forges the closest bond with aside from Niall.

He likes to go over to Jamie’s apartment and sit with the younger boy in his room, finishing his homework as Jamie sits beside him drawing and coloring his pictures. Sometimes Harry reads Jamie stories and sometimes Jamie reads him stories, his broken reading nothing but more reason to adore him. Jamie, like all kids like him, has his own list of problems—mood swings being the biggest—but Harry takes it all in stride. Jamie is like a little glow of light—one that only ever grows bigger or smaller but never out.

It isn’t long before he gains enough trust from Niall’s parents that they let him babysit Jamie. It lightens things up for everyone; for Niall since he can offer more voice lessons at the studio and for his parents who don’t have to pay for a babysitter in the evening (Harry puts his foot down and refuses to take their money). Through his nightly visits, he and Jamie continue to grow closer, until Harry can’t help but see him as his own brother.

One evening, the end of November, they’re sitting in the living room with takeout containers littering the coffee table and a Disney movie (dubbed of course, though Harry isn’t sure Jamie can read the subtitles fast enough) playing on the TV. Jamie has his head on Harry’s lap, yawning every now and then as the movie progresses.

Finally, the movie ends and Harry, thinking Jamie to be asleep but not very tired himself since it’s pretty early by his standards, flips through the channels. He stops on some drama rerun, curious too see what’s happening. The scene playing is evidently a high tension one, if the deliberate orchestral strings playing in the background are anything to go by.

He doesn’t really pay attention to what the characters are saying, eyes glazing over as his mind wanders to other things, namely school and the upcoming holidays. When Jamie unexpectedly speaks, he lets out an embarrassing squeak that he will deny until the end of time.

“Hazza and Nialler are like that,” he says. Harry has no idea what he’s talking about, but when he focuses on the TV again, his face suddenly flushes in embarrassment.

The two stars are kissing—not very passionately, not at all. But he realizes the implications of Jamie’s observation, feeling his cheeks flame red.

“Eh, what do you mean, Minnie?” he asks, changing the channel quickly and trying to act casual about it.

“Nialler kisses Hazza. Call him Nialler, okay Hazza?”

“And how do you know I kiss Nialler, hm Minnie?”

“Nialler kisses Hazza.” Well, if that isn’t embarrassing to hear.

“I kiss Nialler too, Minnie,” he insists, feeling beyond immature that he’s arguing with Jamie over something so trite.

Jamie laughs though, ignoring Harry’s statement. Harry can’t tell what he’s thinking but refrains from prompting any more declarations from him. Jamie, he’s come to realize, is uncannily observant when he wants to be and there’s no telling what he’s thinking at any given moment. It makes him wonder when exactly Jamie caught him and Niall kissing in the apartment. Must have been a while ago, he thinks, considering he hasn’t visited with Niall in a while.

It’s only eight when Harry tucks Jamie into bed, dropping a gentle kiss on his cheek before leaving. When he comes out of the room, Jamie’s mom is just walking in through the front door, arms laden with groceries which he quickly takes from her into the kitchen.

“Thank you Harry,” she says gratefully, slipping her gloves off before unzipping her coat. “How was he?”

“Perfect, as always. I just put him to bed,” Harry answers. He starts putting the frozen foods away, hands lingering longingly over the chicken meat before putting it away too.

“You going home soon? How’s Niall doing? I haven’t heard from him in a while.” Harry takes an apple from the center table and settles down into a chair, watching her move around the kitchen, taking out several pans to cook a light dinner for herself and her husband.

“Niall’s okay,” he replies. “Busy with lessons and studying and composing of course. He’ll be over soon, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Oh Harry, you’re so good to us.”

Harry blushes, hiding his face. It seems the whole family has made it their personal mission in life to make him turn red. “It’s nothing, really. I love coming over and helping out and—” I love your son too he thinks but doesn’t say. “Yeah. I just love coming over, so you don’t have to thank me or anything.”

“Hm. So how are you and Niall doing?”

Harry’s unsure how to answer until he remembers that she already knows about them. He shakes his head, smiling though she doesn’t see it with her back to him. “We’re good.”

“Getting serious?”

“Uhm…sure.” Serious? Serious in what way?

“Are you still living in separate apartments?”

Oh. That kind of serious. “Yeah—we’re still in our own places.”

“It’s been what…six months?” Harry grunts in the affirmative. “So have you thought at all about moving in together?”

Harry resists the urge to groan. Of course he’s thought about it. Niall spends almost all his free time at Harry’s anyway, has some clothes and other things in his apartment even. But just because he’s ready for the ‘Next Step,’ as he’s taken to calling it, does not mean Niall is.

“I’m for the idea, but…” he trails off.

“…But Niall’s not?” she guesses correctly. “Have you talked about it with him?”

“Not exactly. I figured we were good as we are now, why complicate things, right?”

“So really, you’re just afraid he’ll turn you down.” Since when are Niall’s mother and Louis related? “Talk to him Harry. From what he tells me you two are practically living together anyway. And I get the feeling he wouldn’t be so against moving in with you either.”

He thinks about her words as he finishes the last of his apple, chewing slowly and savoring the sweet juice, sharp and poignant on his tongue.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

Harry checks his watch. It’s only a quarter to nine. “As much as I’d love to, I think I should head home. I’ll be over same time tomorrow night though.”

They swap goodbyes before Harry grabs his things that are still in the living room and slips his boots on. He drives home and still can’t stop thinking about what Niall’s mom said to him. Should I really ask him? What if he doesn’t want to? Or what if he does and it ends up being a disaster?

The what-ifs and maybes continue whirling through his mind as he parks his car in the street and heads up to his room. When he goes inside, Niall is just coming out of his bathroom, toweling his hair dry. He’s wearing his sweatpants but one of Harry’s shirts and the sight makes something burn in Harry’s gut.

He can’t resist pulling Niall into a deep kiss, pressing him back against the bathroom door before he can protest. It’s not often Harry initiates physical contact (okay, maybe Jamie was right about Niall kissing him), but when he does, it’s strange how he always seems so much more desperate for it the longer the contact goes on.

Niall’s skin is soft and smells pleasantly fresh from the shower. Harry eventually pulls away and buries his face in Niall’s neck, doing nothing more than just taking in deep breaths. Niall doesn’t question him, just drops the towel and slings his arms around Harry’s shoulders, holding him close.

Minutes pass and Harry merely stands there, thinking. If Niall were to move in, he could have this every day. He could come home every day and find Niall sitting on the couch or in their bedroom or showering in the bathroom. Having given Niall a spare key to his apartment weeks ago, it isn’t uncommon for all that to happen. But Harry pictures it always happening, never having to worry about calling Niall over or worrying about waking him after he falls asleep on the couch so that he can get home before it gets any later.

Images of Niall and him in the kitchen trying to cook dinner or staying up all night watching movies and waking up hours later still on the couch and not having to worry about the older boy leaving flicker like a reel of film through his mind. The longer he thinks about it, the more it appeals to him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, finally pulling away to stare at Niall. He looks at him curiously, prodding him tacitly to continue. “You’re always over, you know?”

“Right…”

“And well, a lot of your stuff is already over here…”

“Ri-ight…”

“So maybe, I dunno.” Harry takes a deep breath and decides to just wing it. “Why don’t we move in? Together.” Niall falls silent and okay, now Harry panics. Shit. Shitshitshit. “It was just an idea, a really, really stupid one at that—forget I said anything—”

“Haz?”

Harry freezes. “Yeah?”

“You'll have to help me get my stuff."

 

 

Life, Harry realizes early on, has a way of fucking with you in the craziest ways imaginable. For someone like him, a physical manifestation of Murphy’s Law, Harry has long since accepted that bad things will always happen. He’s gotten pretty good at letting things wash over him, accepting, as they say, what he can’t change and changing what he can’t accept (though there are few things Harry finds enough fault in to really try to change).

Relationships are like that too. Give and take, compromise. Little doses of altercation to balance out the affection. Yeah, he can deal with that, especially when there’s always something else around the corner to keep him on his toes. Sometimes life gives you lemons, after all.

It’s not like he knows what to do with lemons, but that, in his opinion, is irrelevant.

 

 

Now it’s December. The holidays are coming, and everyone not marked for coal feels the festive spirit.

It only took a few days to move the rest of Niall’s stuff into Harry’s apartment. It was lucky that the decision was made so close to the end of the month, because Niall had the month’s rent paid and didn’t have to worry about wasting his money as he moved out.

There are, of course, the predicted perks of having Niall living with him. Granted it’s only been two weeks, probably still the honeymoon period, but Harry has a feeling this is going to work. Really well.

Living with someone is a bit different than from what Harry remembers during his earlier college days. For one thing, his roommates were all as focused on studying as he was, so it made for some very quiet, easy late nights. No one nagged him to do the dishes or the laundry or clean his side of the room or make his bed. Well, that may have been because there was no need to, as he and his roommates were always pretty tidy about that stuff.

Niall…well Niall isn’t. He doesn’t see why leaving empty Coke cans or beer bottles over the coffee table is wrong, or why the bathroom counter is not a place for his dirty socks. In a way, he’s still like a child, the kind of child who doesn’t fold his clothes after changing (“Your clothes are on the floor again” —“Will pick them up when I get home, promise”) or forgets to put the food back in the fridge and instead, lets it all spoil. Little household things like that, which honestly didn’t bother Harry in the beginning, start to grate on his nerves just a bit after two weeks.

“Ni, did you leave the chicken sandwich out again last night?”

Niall, who’s sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee and perusing the newspaper (Harry assumes the comics or checking the sports section), looks up from his reading. “Hm…I don’t think so?”

Just the fact that he asks it as a question tells Harry that yes, yes he did. He sighs tiredly, realizing he’ll have to buy lunch again since there’s nothing to take from home. “Could you at least try to remember these things? Now I’ll have to pay for lunch.”

“Jeez Haz, relax alright? I’ll just ask Mom to send something over.” Niall shrugs his shoulders and gives one last look at Harry before turning back to his paper.

“But I don’t have time to wait, my first class is in twenty minutes, remember?”

“Then I’ll bring lunch over to you at twelve, okay?”

“That’s not the point—”

“Harry.” Harry shuts up at that, looking woefully into their empty fridge before turning to Niall. “Are you serious? We’re really arguing about lunch during breakfast?”

“We’re not arguing!” What the hell is wrong with him? Harry’s shoulders tense as his boyfriend stands, dropping his newspaper.

“Really? So what do you call you yelling at me?”

What is he, five? I’m not yelling at him. “I’m not yelling, I’m just stating a fact. You have to put the food away at night after you’re done with it, otherwise it’ll spoil.”

Niall actually laughs, and the sound just irritates Harry further. “Now you’re acting like my mom,” he says, still chuckling.

Harry rolls his eyes, walking away from Niall to grab his things before he does something really stupid. “Yeah? Maybe you should start acting like Jamie, then,” he says, just as he’s coming back from the living room with his stuff.

Harry can feel the atmosphere suddenly tense, and realizes belatedly that he’s said exactly the wrong thing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Another sigh. “Nothing, forget it.”

“No—” Niall grabs Harry’s arm, holding him back from escaping. “Come on, say it. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Niall looks angry. Scratch that, Niall looks pissed.   _rule #4?_ Don’t ever compare brothers, especially not Niall and Jamie.

Harry yanks his arm away, matching Niall’s glare with one of his own. “It means, that maybe you should try taking a page out of your brother’s book. You know, try helping out a little and being a little more responsible?” Oh no. Harry can’t believe he just used the ‘R’ word on his twenty three year old boyfriend.

Niall is just about fuming at this point, and Harry thinks that now is his cue to leave before he puts his foot even farther down his throat. “I’m just going to go,” he mutters, shrugging away. Guess that means no goodbye kiss, he thinks to himself as he rushes out the door, not waiting for Niall’s response.

Unsurprisingly, Niall doesn’t come over at noon to drop off any lunch for him.

 

 

When Harry comes home that evening, Niall is already there, feet kicked up on the table with a beer cradled in his hand. He takes a swig of his drink before shutting the TV off and standing, facing Harry.

Don’t provoke him, Harry thinks to himself. He smiles, a bit pathetically. “Hi.” Niall just glares at him. Okay, silent treatment. At least he isn’t trying to punch him in the face. Which wouldn’t really be fair, considering it is kind of Niall’s fault. For not putting away the dishes. Or his dirty clothes. Or cleaning up after himself in the bathroom. Shit, now he’s working himself up again.

“You’re talking irresponsible to me?”

“Ni, don’t be like that,” Harry pleads.

“Like what?” Niall spits and okay, now Harry feels guilty. How did that happen?

“Just—Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean what I said, or at least, I didn’t mean how it sounded.”

“Do you have a problem with me living here?”

Harry is completely taken aback by the question, never having imagined his boyfriend would deduce that from one stupid argument. “What? No!”

“Are you sure? Maybe I moved in too soon. Doesn’t seem like we’re getting along, does it?” Without thinking, Harry lets his bag fall to the floor and grabs Niall’s shoulders, holding him tightly.

“Okay, listen. I’m sorry about calling you irresponsible or whatever this morning. But that doesn’t mean I regret you moving in, alright? I mean, this is just—this isn’t that big a deal, right? It’s just me being too controlling or something. I shouldn’t let it get to me, I know. But Niall,” here he hesitates, Niall looking at him questioningly as the space between their faces gets smaller. “I would really appreciate if the apartment was a little cleaner. I know, I know, it’s not a big deal, I honestly don’t mind all that much having to clean up every now and then. But just—try? For me?”

Compromise isn’t the easiest thing to come to. For a second, Harry is sure Niall is going to tell him to fuck off and then go to the bedroom to pack his things. So when Niall instead grabs his face and delivers a deep, open-mouthed kiss to his lips, he’ll admit he’s a little shocked at first, though it doesn’t take long before he’s kissing back just as intensely.

When they pull away, Niall looks contrite, eyes unable to meet Harry’s. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try,” he mumbles.

Harry smiles, kissing Niall’s cheek. “Great. Now, what’re we having for dinner?”

 

 

Harry likes to think he and Niall are really making it work. They’ve already had several arguments in the past and have moved on from them. Granted, Niall still leaves his things everywhere and still sometimes forgets to put his food away but he’s certainly gotten better about it, and for that Harry is immensely grateful. Arguing with his boyfriend sucks. A lot. And not in a life-affirming kind of way. Certainly not the way Niall is sucking now.

“I swear to God Haz, if you push up one more time…” Niall trails off. Harry’s face burns brightly but thankfully Niall can’t see his face turning red, what with the lights turned off and all. He can hear street sounds dancing their way into their bedroom, the music of the night soothing and more than a mood setter as Niall holds Harry’s hips down with his palms flat against the planes of his hip bones.

Harry can feel the muscles in his legs tightening, toes curling in pleasure as Niall works his dick into his mouth. It’s not like they haven’t done this before—because they have. It’s just that they don’t do this often. Handjobs suffice most of the time and if he’s honest, Harry would admit that the thought of taking Niall’s…yeah…into his mouth makes him a little uncomfortable. But obviously not uncomfortable enough to not let Niall do it to him.

He’s trying really hard not to buck up but damn is that difficult. Niall’s mouth is like a furnace, tight and hot and really, really wet. Even when he accidentally scrapes his teeth along the flesh, Harry only tenses before the sting of pain is soothed away again by a contrite tongue. Harry’s fingers tangle in Niall’s blonde hair, now flat and messy.

“Oh shit—” he exclaims, Niall’s mouth going even lower on him. In times like this, his vocabulary is reduced to pathetic whimpers and careless expletives which is probably Niall’s entire mission.

One knee bends up, his hands holding Niall’s head steady. “Okay—oh shit…don’t move,” he yelps. How embarrassing would it be, releasing before they’ve even really started?

Niall, his bastard boyfriend, pulls away completely and from the very faint mixture of moonlight and streetlight pouring in, Harry can see his face is smug with pride. “Good?”

“Ass. You know it is,” Harry says, trying to catch his breath. He can see trickles of spit and what is obviously is own pre-cum around Niall’s mouth and yeah, it’s probably disgusting but at the same time really, really hot.

Niall continues to smirk as he crawls his way up Harry’s body, dropping swift kisses along the way. When Niall’s close enough, Harry pulls his head down and meets him for another kiss, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth not unlike the way the older boy’s tongue had been swirling around Harry’s member only moments ago.

“Too painful?” Niall gasps, pulling back.

Harry rolls his eyes, fisting Niall’s hair a little more tightly than necessary. “Nope. Not at all.”

“Liar.”

“Shut up.” Harry turns them over, flipping Niall onto his back and burying his face in his boyfriend’s sweaty neck. They stay like that for several long seconds, just breathing and trying to calm down. Harry can feel Niall’s excitement pressed against the inside of his thigh as his legs open slightly, knowing Niall can feel his own. The night’s still young though. No rush.

Niall’s hands keep running down Harry’s back and it feels soothing, wonderful like everything the older boy does. Harry shudders once, hand reaching between them to finish his boyfriend off.

Niall however seems to have different plans. He grabs Harry’s hand and halts his movement. Harry pulls away, staring curiously at him.

Whenever Niall gets really nervous, Harry’s realized, he does this thing where he simultaneously bites the inside of his cheek and stares at anything and everything but the reason for his nervousness. He’s doing it now, not looking at Harry and biting really hard on his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” He doesn’t answer at first, and Harry can tell he’s steeling himself for whatever he’s about to say. What could be making him so anxious?

“You know, it’s been almost seven months.” Since they started going out, right, Harry thinks, nodding at him to go on. “And uh—don’t you want to…you know?” He rotates his wrist, as if that movement is supposed to tell Harry exactly what he’s thinking. Unfortunately, Harry hasn’t gotten to sign language just yet at school, and thus has no idea what Niall is implying.

“What?”

“You know…” he says again, face turning away completely.

Harry is really confused; because he’s pretty sure he doesn’t know. “Eh, no…no I really don’t know. What are you talking about?”

“Fuck it,” Niall growls. He finally looks at Harry again but now he’s glaring. “Sex, Harry. It’s been seven months, when are we going to have sex?”

Okay, hold on. Harry pushes away faster than Niall could probably blink, sitting up with wide eyes and staring down at his boyfriend. “When are we—” He breaks off and gulps. Well, this he certainly wasn’t expecting. Not that he hadn’t been thinking about it though. It was like the whole moving-in thing. Only it was opposite, because he always had an inkling Niall would want to do it. Except…Harry wasn’t so sure he was ready for it.  
“You…want to have sex?”

Niall doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even nod, just continues to stare pointedly at Harry. Right, of course, he did just ask for sex, didn’t he? “You want to have sex with me? Us…having sex?”

“Harry—”

“I mean, right—no, we’ve had sex. Good sex.” Harry is floundering; he can tell he sounds ridiculous. What a pain, he thinks. There goes his inadequacy, acting up again. “We’ve had sex. Handjobs and you know…” This time he makes the same motion as Niall had made before, with his hand rotating awkwardly.

Harry shifts uncomfortably and it’s only when he settles back and feels Niall’s very prominent erection pressing between his ass that he realizes what Niall means.

Oh. That kind of sex.

“Yeah, sex Harry. As in, I fuck you; you fuck me, kinda thing? With my penis in you and—”

“I get it, I get it!” Harry waves his hands back and forth in front of him, stopping Niall from saying anymore. “But I mean, like you said…It’s only been seven months, after all…” he trails off, at a loss for what else to say.

Apparently Niall understands what Harry is saying, or rather, not saying, because his face suddenly clears, gaze softening. “You’re nervous,” he states, and it’s not a question but a fact.

Harry shakes his head emphatically. “Nonono! I’d love to have sex!” Shit, that sounded ridiculous. Backtracking, he quickly amends, “I mean, have sex with you…the way you mean. But isn’t it…early? Shouldn't we wait a little bit more?”

“Wait? How much longer do you want to wait?”

How about until we actually start calling each other boyfriends in public or tell each other ‘I love you?’ “Well there’s no rush, right? We have plenty of time,” he says weakly.

“Harry—” By this point Harry has really had enough of this conversation. His erection has completely wilted, as has Niall’s, and the lump sitting in his stomach attests heavily to a coming night that’s going to be filled with awkward space between them in bed and an even more awkward morning as they avoid each other’s eyes and keep conversation stilted. Harry has to admit that Niall’s caught him by surprise and he just really needs some time to think.

He shakes his head once and crawls off of Niall’s lap, too busy getting his sweatpants on to feel embarrassed. He’s silent as he pulls on a t-shirt—which turns out to be Niall’s, he realizes after noticing how loose around the shoulders and short to the waist it is.

“Where are you going?” Niall asks. Harry turns around in the middle of hopping to get his socks on to see Niall sitting up in bed, unabashed to be sitting up completely naked. They share a look for a second before Harry falls over to the side trying to find his other sock.

“I…need to go out for a bit.”

“You need to what?”

“Just—don’t wait up for me. I’ll be back before morning.” And before Niall can say anything further, Harry rushes out of the room, hurriedly putting his boots on before grabbing the apartment key and leaving. The last thing he sees before shutting the door behind him is Niall scrambling out of the bedroom to follow him, not even bothering to cover up. The look on his face is a mixture of disbelief, worry, and anger.

Harry wonders which will be waiting for him when he gets back.

 

 

Harry isn’t running away. Nope. Him leaving his apartment in the middle of sex—or at least, what would have been sex—is just him putting some needed distance between him and his boyfriend. He definitely is not running away.

He’s definitely not scared either. Not as he scurries down the building stairs and steps out into the cold night in nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt. One week before Christmas—not the best time to be making snow angels barely covered.

Now what? He thinks despondently. He stops and turns around, looking up at the building before shaking his head and walking away, hands buried in his pockets to preserve what little warmth he can. His breath mists out in front of him, arms already chilled with tiny goose pimples. He swears the sweat is freezing on his back. How comfortable.

No one, unsurprisingly enough, is out in the streets. Considering the time and the weather, Harry feels ridiculous for being out himself. He eyes the warm shops passing by him as he walks along the sidewalk, yearning to go inside but realizing all of them are closed. And of course he’s too stubborn to go back to his apartment. The longer he can put off his next meeting with Niall, the better.

His fingers play with some loose coins in his pocket and, in a fit of inspiration, Harry steps into a phone booth, playing with the cord for a second after putting a coin inside, finally settling on who to call.

“Hello?”

“Lou? It’s me, Harry.”

Louis sounds about as shocked as expected. “Haz? Whose number are you calling from?”

“Uhm,” once again, Harry feels stupid. Really stupid. And he knows Louis is going to tell him how stupid he is too when he reveals what just happened. “A payphone.”

“And why, pray tell, are you calling me from a payphone? Don’t tell me you lost your phone again—”

“No, I didn’t lose my phone.” He sighs, finger tracing idle figures across the side of the machine. His fingerprints smudge as he draws nonsense on the metal.

He can hear Louis fiddling with something on his end before speaking again. “Did you and Niall fight?”

Of course, what else would it be? “You could…say that.”

“Well did you or not?”

“I sort of walked out on him before it could get that far.” Well, close enough to the truth.

“What’d you argue about?”

“It wasn’t an arg—”

Louis sounds more than a little impatient when he says, “Whatever, sorry. Let me rephrase: What did you ‘disagree’ about before you oh-so-intelligently left your apartment in the middle of the night?”

Thank god Louis can’t see him fidgeting in the phone booth. “Stuff…”

“…Like?”

“Like…sex stuff.” That about sums it up, he thinks.

He can almost hear the gears turning in his friend’s head. This is definitely not a conversation to have with his best friend at…he checks his wristwatch…11:47pm.  
“Alright, I’m confused,” Louis finally admits. “What about sex were you arguing over?”

“We—ell…it’s more like our lack of sex that we were talking about.”

“You mean you haven’t—”

“No!” Harry very nearly has a conniption at the idea of going that far into detail about his lack of experience. It’s hard enough to admit it to himself but talking about it to Louis…that’s a completely different story. “Sorry...But to answer your question, no, we haven’t exactly gotten that far.”

They lapse into silence, in which Harry takes the time to consider his options. Really he can only go back home and deal with repercussions of leaving in the first place. It’s nice though to think he has other courses of action—even though he doesn’t.

“Niall wants to have sex and you don’t?”

Harry really wants to tell Louis that 1) no, he doesn’t want to have sex and 2) he really doesn’t want to talk about it either. “I’m just nervous,” he finally admits.

“Because you’ve never done it before.” Seriously, what is it with his friends and stating his experience so matter-of-factly? “Harry, I really think you should just talk to Niall about this.”

“I will.”

“No, I mean, get off the phone with me and go home to your boyfriend and talk. Stop avoiding him, avoiding the problem never helps.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Louis laughs, and Harry can’t help but crack a smile as well. “When am I ever not right?” he asks rhetorically.

They talk for several more minutes until Harry realizes his time is running up, unless he wants to put more money in. With quick goodbyes, Harry hangs up the phone and stares at it. Eventually, when he knows he can’t put it off any longer, he steps outside the phone booth, nearly crying out at the cold blast of winter air that greets him. Clearly this is my punishment for being such a jerk, he thinks, heading home the same way he came.

Niall is still up waiting for him when Harry pulls the key out of the lock and turns around, coming face to face with his beyond irate lover.

“Fuck you,” are the first words out of his mouth and yeah, Harry knows he deserves that.

“Ni—”

“No Harry…Fuck—you,” he says again and shit, are those tears in his eyes? As if Harry didn’t feel awful enough, now he feels like the dirt beneath Niall’s feet.

“I’m sorry!” Harry gasps out, grabbing Niall’s shoulders. No way, he thinks to himself. No way are we falling apart because of sex. “I’m so, so sorry!”

“I can’t believe you fucking left. Are you insane? Do you hate me that much?”

“What?! No! Baby, how could you think that?”

“Oh I don’t know, how about because you left the apartment at eleven-fucking-thirty at night because you didn’t want to have sex with me? What am I supposed to think when you don’t even take your cell phone or tell me you where you’re going?”

“God Ni,” Harry feels like crying himself but doesn’t. Already his boyfriend’s irritation is giving away to weariness. Harry isn’t quite sure which is worse. “I’m sorry. Fuck I—I’m just really sorry.”

They don’t know what to say to each other, that much is obvious. Hesitantly, Harry wraps his arms around Niall, thinking maybe some comfort would help. He’s relieved when Niall doesn’t push him away, but still feels awful that they just stand there, doing nothing but hugging. It’s awkward, to say the least, like two strangers holding each other stiffly. Harry’s regret is burning him from the inside but he thinks, as Niall’s arms slowly slide around his middle and holds him close, burying his nose in Harry’s t-shirt clad shoulder, that it’s the hurt his boyfriend displays that burns worse.

 

 

“Where are you going?” Niall asks, later as they get ready (again) for bed.

Harry pauses at the bedroom door, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. Niall sounds wary, almost suspicious. “Just to the bathroom,” Harry replies. “Going to take a shower real quick before bed.”

Niall doesn’t say anything, showing his back to Harry as he rolls over to his other side and faces the wall. With a sigh, Harry leaves him alone, thinking it better that they both get a bit more space to think before he comes back.

The warm water of the shower feels good against his aching muscles as he stands there, letting the spray wash away the tension from his shoulders. His limbs are still stinging from the cold, and his feet have needle-pricks of pain as they submerge in the shallow water filling the tub.

He can’t help but think that he and Niall have been fighting more and more these days. Little things of course, like over household chores or arguing about not calling each other when one of them will be home late. Could it be Harry’s insecurity that’s rearing its ugly head? Or is it some fault of Niall’s?

He doesn’t think that’s fair though, pinning all the blame on his boyfriend—pinning any blame, really, on him. It’s not like either of them is solely responsible for their troubles. Relationships, after all, are two-way streets. Collective blame, yeah, that sounds about right.

Harry absently grabs his shampoo bottle, squeezing a large sum of the gel into his hand. As he runs his hands through his wet hair, his eyes suddenly stray back to the shampoo, eyeing it for a moment. An idea, a very stupid, very ridiculous, idea has seeded itself in his mind and before he can stop himself, he grabs the bottle again and squeezes more of the shampoo onto his hand, coating his fingers liberally with the scented soap.

This is dumb, he tells himself. Really, really dumb. He pulls the shower curtain back and peeks outside, feeling shameful for what he’s about to do. It’s not as if it’s illegal, other people to do it all the time. That thought doesn’t console him any.

He presses the first finger against his hole and okay no, he can’t do this. He definitely can’t do this, not when Niall is sleeping some twenty feet away from the bathroom and not when Harry almost ruined their relationship over this in the first place. He closes his eyes and counts backward from five, steeling himself, before pushing the finger in past the first ring of muscle.

Oh shit, he thinks. Oh shitshitshit and shit. His eyes squeeze painfully shut, teeth biting his bottom lip. It’s not so much painful as it is really fucking uncomfortable because evidently fingers? Probably not supposed to be up there in the first place.

He keeps going though, pushing it in to his knuckle and then freezing. He releases the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, feeling his chest unclench and his stomach muscles loosen. The moment his body relaxes, that one finger doesn’t feel so strange anymore, not like it had in the beginning. So long as he just stands there in that position, not moving an inch…yeah, he could get used to this.

“Haz? What the hell are you doing, you’ve been in there ages!”

Shocked by the sudden interruption, Harry unthinkingly yanks the finger out and oh shit, yeah that hurts a lot. He cries out and squeezes his shut. He can still hear Niall calling for him through the bathroom door but really all Harry can concentrate is the ache stinging in his ass. Fuck, no way, no way Niall and I are doing this, he vows silently to himself, biting his tongue hard to keep from crying out.

“I’m—fine,” he barely manages out, finally silencing Niall.

“Are you okay? You sound…constipated,” Niall says and even Harry can’t stop a pained laugh at that. Oh no, I’m absolutely okay, considering I was just caught by my boyfriend in the middle of fingering myself in the shower.

“No, no I’m good. I’ll be out soon,” he grinds out, doubling over and holding onto the wall. The pain is already starting to fade, which he’s thankful for.

When Harry thinks he can stand without wanting to punch the shower wall, he finally washes the remaining shampoo in his hair and shuts the water off. He hunches over for another minute before finally stepping very cautiously over the bathtub onto the floor, grabbing his towel from the rack on the way.

He dries himself slowly, still wincing every so often. Straightening at last, he gingerly makes his way back into his bedroom with the towel wrapped snuggly around his waist. Niall is sitting up in bed with a book in his lap, which Harry knows he isn’t reading because Niall couldn’t give two shits about the impending threat of spatial warfare (light reading for Harry).

“Sorry I took so long,” Harry mutters, grabbing a new set of boxes and a t-shirt from the closet.

“What were you doing in there, anyway?” Niall asks as he drops the book over the edge of the bed, waiting for Harry to finish dressing before switching the lamp off.

Harry crawls on all fours over the bed covers in the dark, ignoring his question. As Niall reaches down and pulls the comforter over them, the younger boy snuggles himself close to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Niall’s thick frame and letting his head fall against Niall’s chest.

Niall laughs in his ear, lips soft and playful as they nip gently at Harry’s skin. It’s going to get unbearably hot later in the night, what with the sheet wrapped around them and holding each other so tightly, but Harry finds he doesn’t mind so much. Despite whatever happened that evening, it’s good to know he can always trust Niall to be there for him in this way.

 

 

Christmas comes and goes and before Harry knows it, the New Year is in full swing. January blurs by in a gust of cold snow, more studying, more babysitting, and more heated kisses in bed. Since that first time in the shower, Harry hasn’t attempted sticking anything up inside him again—and has no plans of doing so anytime soon. Thankfully, Niall seems to respect his wishes to not go too far, because he never initiates anything beyond heavy petting in bed (not to say those nightly incidences aren’t intense).

Jamie hates the cold, a lot, and Harry can relate. While Niall gets an excited gleam in his eyes every morning that they wake up to it snowing, Harry just shivers and wants to curl up into a ball beneath the covers and not come out until its spring. Jamie, he learns, wants that too.

“Minnie, come on, you have to go!”

“Not going!” Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache form behind his eyes. He and Niall are in his parents' apartment, trying to convince Jamie to come out with them to take him to school. Well, Harry’s trying to convince him to come out of his room. Niall is hiding out in the bathroom under the pretense of ‘really having to go.’

“But Minnie, don’t you want to go to school and see all your friends?”

“No!”

One…two…three… Harry bangs his head against Jamie’s bedroom door. “Minnie, ple-ase,” he begs. “For Hazza, will you come out?”

“No!”

Niall comes up behind him, wrapping arms around his waist and putting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. “You realize begging isn’t going to help?” he asks, laughing softly.

Harry groans, jiggling the door handle again. Nope, still locked. “Then what do you propose we do? We can’t just leave him here.”

“You go; I’ll get him to school.”

Harry shrugs him off and turns to face him. “You sure?”

“Yeah, you have class soon and I don’t want you to be late.” Harry still hesitates, looking once again back at the door. “Seriously Haz, just go.”

He sighs in relief, dropping a kiss onto Niall’s cheek with a smile before grabbing his stuff next to the wall and rushing off. “Thanks Ni” he calls out.

The last thing he hears before closing the door behind him is the sound of Niall cooing at his brother through the door to open up. Don’t beg, my ass, Harry thinks, rolling his eyes.

 

 

He’s sitting in class, bored and tapping the end of his pencil against his desk. It’s afternoon and he’s only been sitting in class for a half hour but the lecture for today was on a topic he’d already read. Doodling Niall’s name in the margin of his notebook had been entertaining for a good five minutes but there are only so many ways he can write ‘Niall + Harry’ before it gets old.

Sighing, his forehead thumps against the edge of his desk just as he feels his pocket vibrate. Grateful he’d remember to switch the volume setting on his phone; Harry digs the device from his pants and stares at the screen for a second before opening it. It’s a text from Niall.

I have a surprise for you, it reads. A stupid smile splits his face, trying to picture whatever it is Niall may have done. Cooked lunch, maybe? Or bought him some new books?

Harry can’t sit still for the remainder of the class, but luckily it’s the final one he has for the day. The second the bell rings he’s off like a firework, bag dragging behind him as he scurries out of the building into the frigid afternoon air. Harry inhales deeply, feeling empowered by the prospect of Niall’s surprise because honestly, he’s more than a little giddy by the idea of Niall going out of his way to surprise him.

“Niall!” he calls out, stepping out of his shoes. The apartment is quiet until he hears Niall stumble out of the bedroom, fixing his shirt. His eyes disappear into half crescents as he spots Harry standing in the hall, waiting for him.

“Harry, oh good you’re here,” he says, not giving Harry time to say anything. “Come on, lemme show you your surprise.”

He drags Harry by the arm into the living room and the entire time, Harry has to fight down the butterflies of excitement breeding in his stomach. He’s still smiling until Niall pulls him around the couch and he’s met with the sight of shopping bags—lots and lots of shopping bags—littering the coffee table.

“Uhm—” Harry pulls his arm out of Niall’s grasp and walks to the first bag. There are 6 in total, all full with things inside he can’t distinguish quite yet. He reaches inside one and pulls out the first thing his hand touches: a DVD—several, actually.

“So...? What do you think?

Harry waits a beat before answering with a question of his own. “What is this?”

Niall takes hold of another bag and turns it upside down, carelessly dumping its contents onto the couch. Toys and books and more DVDs come tumbling out. “I went out this morning after dropping Jamie off at school and bought a bunch of stuff—”

“—I can see that—”

“—for you and Jamie,” he finishes, speaking over Harry.

Harry is at a loss for what to say, so chooses not to say anything at all. Instead, he starts rummaging through the other bags and sure enough, he’s met with more of the same stuff that Niall spilled out onto the sofa.

“Niall.” His voice is calm, his stomach sinking, not betraying the turmoil within. “How much did you spend?”

Niall waves his hand at him, telling him not to worry about it. “I got it for you and Jamie. Since you’re trying to be a teacher and all, I thought you could start with my brother, you know, teach him things outside of school. It’ll be good practice.”

And still Harry doesn’t know what to say. He realizes he might be starting to look a little ungrateful, really ungrateful, but he can’t help it that all he can think about is—

“How much did you pay for this?” he asks again, stressing each word as he turns to face his boyfriend.

He watches the smile on Niall’s face slowly melt away, replaced by a look of confusion. “What does it matter? It’s a gift.”

Harry shakes his head, putting down the flip book he’d been holding in his hand. “Niall, we can’t afford all this. How did you even pay for it all?”

“Look, stop worrying about how much it cost, would you? I thought you’d be happy, I’m trying to help you!”

Now is when Harry should stop and take a step back, show his lover he means no offense. But then Harry catches sight of a receipt sticking out of Niall’s front pocket and without thinking, snatches it into his hand, scanning all the way to the bottom of the long list on the paper. His heart nearly stops at the sight of the number at the end, denoting the final price.

Niall tries to grab the receipt back but Harry easily holds it up, shooting Niall an angry look. “You—Jesus Niall, this is half our month’s rent!”

Niall doesn’t even look apologetic, just pissed at Harry. “Give that back!”

“You idiot, why would you buy all this stuff? We don’t need it! Jamie doesn’t need it and I certainly don’t need it either!”

“I thought you’d be happy that I’m thinking about you!”

Harry looks at the receipt again, hoping he’d read the numbers wrong, but no, they’re still the same. “Why on earth would I want this? Jamie doesn’t need any more books or DVDs or coloring shit, that’s what his school is for. It’s not my job to teach your brother anything!”

“He can always use more help, you know he’s not like other kids and you—”

“What are you talking about, not like other kids?” They both freeze, as though only just realizing what Niall said. Harry’s voice is low as he goes on, “Why, because he’s autistic? He’s got a condition, sure, but he’s not stupid.”

“I know that,” Niall says defensively, lips curling in distaste. His arms cross over his chest. “He’s my brother, I know he’s not stupid.”

“Then why did you go out today and buy all these teaching aids for autistic kids?” As Harry’s voice calms, he can see Niall’s anger deflate as well, suddenly looking guilty. He pushes the stuff on the sofa aside and drops down heavily onto the cushions.

They’re both silent, both thinking. Harry can’t remember how things suddenly got so heated between them. Had it been a few weeks ago, he would’ve been happy over Niall’s ‘surprise’ to him. Maybe it’s because he's suddenly not just thinking about himself, but about them. Everything they do now affects both of them, and going out on a limb and buying so much stuff...well, Harry knows they can’t exactly afford it, not without being tight on money for the next month. Being university students means having to keep a handle on the things they buy, not being impulsive.

Responsibility, Harry thinks.

With a sigh, he drops down next to Niall, wrapping his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder and pulling him close. They stare at their laps, still unable to meet each other’s eyes.

“I’m not ungrateful,” Harry finally says, calmer now. “I just…I wish you would’ve talked to me about this first. We can’t just blow our money on things like this whenever we want.”

“I know that. I just—you know me, Haz. I just can’t…I can’t help but do things like this. I say stupid stuff and I do stupid things. But this,” he motions to the stuff on the table across from them, “I really thought this was a good idea. It gives us a chance to spend more time with Jamie and it can help him too, teaching him further than what he’s learning at school.”

“I understand that, Ni. But we have to talk about things like this. It’s not just you anymore, it’s us. What’re we going to do for next month’s rent? It was tight enough when I was on my own, but since you moved in and I dropped tutoring hours to babysit for your brother, money’s gotten even tighter. And you know we can’t pay the whole rent on your income alone.”

They fall silent again, the silence not uncomfortable so much as it is contemplative. Harry has faith they’ll make it of course, it’s just a matter of how.

“I’m sorry,” Niall whispers. Harry only nods his head, wordlessly accepting the apology.

 

 

Later, after they clean up the living room and put away the things Niall had bought, they sit at the dining table, eating their dinner—that Niall had picked up from his mom’s place—and trying really hard to avoid each other’s gazes.

Harry wonders how things ended up like this, where he can’t even meet Niall’s eye because it’s so awkward. He hates it, hates it like the poison it is, polluting their relationship. He hates that he can’t just look up and tells Niall he’s sorry but grateful for his thoughtfulness. He hates that he has to think about things in the long-term now, when he doesn’t even have a guarantee that they’ll still be together like they are at the moment. He hates the ambiguity shrouding their relationship, he hates that he can’t even say ‘I love you’ to his boyfriend of eight months, and he just really, really hates—

“—this. I hate this.”

Niall looks up from his plate, startled by Harry’s sudden attempt at conversation. “What?”

“Why are we so awkward around each other?”

Niall takes a moment to chew another spoonful of rice before answering. “Because that's what happens when you live with someone, it's just the way relationships work.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t we ever say that to people?”

“You’ve lost me.”

Harry puts his spoon down on his napkin, resting his elbows on the table as he peers over the meal at Niall. “What I mean is, why don’t we ever tell people we’re boyfriends? We’ve been dating for eight months now, been living together for almost two, yet, have we ever even said—” He stops, reluctant to say what he really wants. Niall’s stare is sharp, questioning and Harry feels vulnerable beneath his penetrating gaze.

“Said what?”

Is he actually going to say it? Can he even say it? He takes a deep breath, as if this is the most important thing he’s ever had to do, which yeah, it almost feels like it. “Said we love each other?” The words have a ringing effect in the sudden stillness of the room. For awhile Harry had been struggling to meet Niall’s eyes, now he finds himself unable to look away. “Do you even know that I love you?”

Here it comes, Harry thinks. Here comes the horrible reaction.

He’s met with silence before, “Do I—? Harry,” he stops, swallowing. Oh no, not tears again. I really need to stop making him cry. “You are so, so stupid, you know that?”

Harry doesn’t exactly know what to say to that. “Uhm, I’m sorry?”

He watches Niall roll his eyes, face suddenly blooming into a grin. “Good god, Harry, I can’t believe you. I love you too, okay?”

“Okay?” Honestly? Harry is confused, like he’s been thrown out to sea and told to swim his way back to shore five leagues away.

“Good, now that we have that out of the way—” Niall suddenly stands, walking over to Harry and stopping to stand above him. His hands muss Harry’s curly hair until the smooth tresses are completely tangled with his fingers. “Does that mean we can have sex now?”

Alright then. Harry gapes at him with his jaw slack and eyes wide, doing a very good impression of a hungry goldfish as Niall continues to grin expectantly down at him. “Well? Don’t keep me waiting in suspense Harry; I want to have sex with my boyfriend, whom I love very, very much.”

Whether Harry is exactly ready for sex—that kind of sex—is pretty irrelevant, as he’ll find out later. Because _rule #5?_   Don’t keep Niall waiting.

Ever.


End file.
